


Hello Neurosis my old friend

by BugTongue



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Gen, Mania, Newmannic aspects are very much just background noise, Paranoia, Paranoid Delusions, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, hermann also is only mentioned and not actively assing it up in person, poor hygiene due to mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8376772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BugTongue/pseuds/BugTongue
Summary: Three snippets of Newt having Issues, ft. Done-with-this-shit Stacker Pentacost and Who's-a-good-girl Clover the service dog.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Some issues are canon, some are likely post-canon, and some are thinly veiled diary entries.

"Definitely absolutely just a casual inspection that I do in every new lab, just been soooo busy, couldn't get to this y’know what with the uh, yeah, the stuff with the kaiju and all. Got decontaminated blue up to my elbows really getting in there looking at the viscera it's like some blue waffle bullshit whenever we get a new, a new specimen, fuck it's hot."

Newt wiped his forehead, leaving a greasy black smudge across the skin. He was pulling apart the very necessary wall electronics and had turned off the air in favor of being able to hear a pin drop on the lab, for the purpose of looking for something which he knew for a fact would not be there. He rolled his sleeves up to the elbow and started putting the alarm in his hands back together--as suspected, The Government had not bugged his fucking laboratory.

He wasn't nearly swift enough, made obvious by marshal Pentacost's voice snapping through his concentration and causing him to drop his mess of electronics on the floor. The sound echoed uncomfortably as he pushed his glasses back into place on the bridge of his nose.

"Hey dude, main dude, my man marshal what's up? Ive actually got that data on the poison secreting glands from Raythe and I've gotta say your retrieval team did a **bang up job** , ah, retrieving it. Really, they fucking bruised the hell out of iT-" he startled again as Pentacost raised his hand for silence. At about that point newt noticed his borrowed j-tech lab helpers _cowering_ at the open door and realized the marshal wasn't here for the update on his job. He swallowed.

"Dr. Geiszler is there a reason you have dismantled the lab and turned it into a sweatshop?" Stacker Pentacost was a good man. He wasn't kind and he wasn't cruel, he just watched newt steadily and waited with an air that demanded an answer. Newt glanced at the doorway again.

"Inspection, dude. Can't be sure of a lab until I know how everything ticks and that its ticking properly, this is why I've been in the same lab for as long as we've been at this shatterdome. Which, actually, you should know so I don't get why you're asking. This is my answer, on record by the way, of why I would not let hermann have my lab. But y'know I didn't really have a choice in moving over here hunh?" His tone had curled into something dark and snappish, nearly enough to make him pause. Nearly.

"That's not good enough, doctor. I need a real answer." He glanced behind him and the tech crew made quick work of finding somewhere else to be. "This is a distraction and a gross breach of safety protocol. You are aware of this."

Newts eyes fluttered closed for a moment. "So I've finished my analysis of that sample and it turns out the poison glands aren't triggered by outside stimulus, in fact it seems to be non automatic, it's controlled, meaning it's a *weapon* and not self defense. Now, cool as that is, it means that these kaiju are evolving either specifically to destroy us or-"

"DOCTOR GEISZLER."

Newt slammed his fist on the metal counter.

"MARSHAL IF YOU CONTINUE TO HARANGUE ME ABOUT THIS I'M GOING TO START SCREAMING." He gulped down a breath and closed his eyes again. "And I don't, I don't think I'll be able to stop, once I start, so please oh my fucking god man give me a break."

  
}%{

 

After Operation Pitfall had brought an end to the war, everyone working at the last remaining shatterdome had to figure out what to do next, where to go next. It was easy for some, mostly jeager tech and maintenance crews. For others it was more complex; Tendo moved on to a military airport, still orchestrating, still talking into a little headset; Mako and Raleigh seemed to be trying to move on from everything they had trained for and instead actually learn how to be alive instead of hurtling towards certain death; Herc went off the known radar, most likely just slid further into the military hierarchy. As for the remnants of the K-science devision, space seemed the next logical area of study, and NASA was eager to take them into her open, sweaty, Floridian arms.

For the better half of the day, Newton had been messing around with garbage. Not actual trash, well, not HIS trash anyway, trash from the engineering labs. He had an idea for something rad that he almost certainly couldn't tell anyone about until it was done, or they'd reclaim his trash and put him on some kind of job probabtion.

The cowards.

He also had a theory about getting hermann up onto the space station despite the man being ineligible for flight, he just needed to tell hermann without being shot down immediately. Ha, and also ha.

The air kicked on and brought with it the smell currently residing in his sink, which _febreze_ and a distractable mind have been helping him to ignore. He still had a few clean dishes left, he didnt NEED to divert his attention to chores right now, it was going to be fine if not a little smelly. Speaking of he should probably shower, or, stop choosing his outfits from the sea of decay spread out on the floor. But it's whatever! It's whatever, because he's busy and its important and he just cant spare the energy really. He was already fighting a yawn, having finished up the coffee about a week ago. Mmmmperhaps more than a week, he couldn't be sure, he couldn't remember. To make up for the lack of caffeine in his appartment he just visited the handy little break room often enough to keep himself functional.

Okay, definitely time to spray some _linen & sky_ to clear the air.

 

}%{

 

It should have gone differently.

The city was in good repair, being east coast and upscale, and Newton had Clover with him for support. Big golden lab who liked table scraps and sniffing butts, real good girl, made Newt's day on the regular even without the red vest on. Things were going well, better than average even, as he crossed 7th ave to get to a bar hed made plans to do a gig at. He had his keyboard rolled up and strapped to his back and was just waiting for the crowd to clear a bit, let him cross the next street, when audio and visual input got fucked up. And usually, yeah, hed recognize what that meant and take a knee and breathe until he could see straight again, but this was apparently an exception.

Sound warped when someone in a blue jacket ran up in his peripheral vision and bumped into someone just ahead of newton. He thought that was human laughter but it, swam weird. He was standing still as the crowd moved as the scene slid as the baby ripped free of otachi and screamed towards him. He remembered running he, did he run left that might have saved him no it ended in him being ripped apart stop stop- no he ran scrambled fell backwards cowered down did he die did he- no he didnt die- he could have died he what if he had- stop no he DIDNT die he was, walking in a crowd. His body felt like a million swarming bees trying to move together, his arm felt like lead. No his arm was in front of him and clover was pulling him with the crowd. He.

He took in a breath and choked on it, coughed, took another breath. He was in Florida in a downtown area on his way to a, a bar. The kaiju were dead. He wasnt. Clover veered to a bus bench and he tumbled onto it facing up. It wasnt exactly comfortable with his scalp shoved up against a metal armrest but like this he could breath until the spots in his vision cleared. His arm draped over the side and instead of feeling concrete under his fingers he felt fur.

He could most likely still do that gig if he stayed here another minute. Two minutes might mean giving up but struggling to his feet right away might lead to going right back home.

He counted to sixty, then rolled off the bench onto legs he could actually feel again, and continued onwards.


End file.
